


Sensations: A Collection of Drabbles

by AlyssaKendall



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, five senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssaKendall/pseuds/AlyssaKendall
Summary: The lasso might not be under his ass anymore, but it doesn’t keep him from taking back anything he’s said. A collection of five drabbles exploring the intimacy and electricity between Arthur and Diana, through several of the (quite literal) senses.





	Sensations: A Collection of Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this whole thing while listening to “Icky Thump” on repeat, so I blame that (and Jason Momoa with a bottle of whiskey) for any oddities. I wanted to incorporate a lyric or two, but nothing really fit. However, that whole part about “Americans, what nothing better to do…can’t be a pimp and a prostitute too” tried really hard and gets an honorable mention, but I can’t do my boo Diana that way.

**Take 1. Eyes.**  
The lasso might not be under his ass anymore, but it doesn’t keep him from taking back anything he’s said. He meant every word, eyes glancing at hers, and he catches that small sparkling glimpse. Her cheeks are pink, and her smile is genuine. Arthur is sure he hasn’t seen anything quite like her. How can someone so gorgeous and beautiful be so intensely fierce, true, and loyal? He’s searched for a weakness, the slightest thing to turn his mind away, but he comes up empty every time. Instead, he continues to catch her eyes, and hers catch his. She practically giggles while Bruce stands so stoic, and Barry warbles on about his blood sugar.

 **Take 2. Lips.**  
Her lips part, and her eyes shut. It happens every time, with every kiss she receives...every kiss she takes. His lips coax hers to open wider, but instead she’ll run her fingers through curly, tangled hair. This goes at her pace. A century goes by before she lets herself feel and taste again. A hundred long years since she’s shared this and she’ll be damned to let one Arthur Curry in control. She takes first a breath and then a handful of hair with a tug this time and guides him to tilt his head into a deeper kiss. Theirs mouths meet and their tongues swirl against each other, hard and fast and fluid. She tastes the salt that lines along his lips, a permanent reminder of where he’s from, and where she can only graze the surface. A small groan escapes from his mouth, and Diana can feel it, though she isn’t sure right now where his tongue ends and hers begins. 

**Take 3. Hands.**  
He knows a place just outside of Marseille. A place where at first it reminds her way too much of Germany, way too much of Steve, way too much of a mistake she hasn’t made yet. It isn’t until he takes her hand and leads her inside that she agrees. She doesn’t lean against him, but she does squeeze her own hand back a bit, and he responds with reassurance. Self-confidence is universally beautiful, but it looks especially gorgeous on her with each piece of clothing they drop to the floor. His hand slides along her breasts, and he’s leaning in to taste. Her hand finds the curve of his hips, his ass, and he can’t help himself from groaning again. Small gasps escape her lips as his hands guide her back against the soft mattress. He’s spreading her legs apart, touching between them as she grips the sheets, his shoulders, his hair. She wants this, can feel how much he does too. She wants him, but says nothing more than a wanton, wordless moan.

 **Take 4. Bodies.**  
The bed beats against the wall, the sounds of creaking wood and springs mixes with deep, husky groans and high-pitched, breathy moans. Her legs are wrapped around his waist and hips as he thrusts in hard, rhythmic, and over and over again. She arches her back and presses against him, bringing their bodies closer. He’s panting and sweat drips from his forehead down his nose, and on his chest. Her body feels incredible, the way she reacts to every small touch and detail only arouses him more, brings him closer. Her mouth opens as she whispers his name, “Arthur!” on her lips. Her nails dig into the tattooed flesh of his back, leaving small marks that are nearly invisible against the black ink. Hips undulating, he can’t stop and neither can she. His moans become unintentionally stifled, small “oh, ohs” as he thrusts deep and hard. She responds with a small “yes…” heavy and earnest, “oh yes…” when she can feel he’s close. Letting her own body relax into the pleasure. Letting herself climax when she feels him doing the same. The headboard smashes against the wall and the wood cracks. He’s fairly certain it’s snapped somewhere along the frame, but he’s feeling too damned good to care.

 **Take 5. Aftermath.**  
They lie on the bed, feeling spent and satisfied. He can feel a twinge in his stomach and her hand is grazing his side. “You don’t have to do that,” he grumbles. “I want to,” comes her simple response. She can’t see his face in the position in which they’re laying, but it doesn’t stop him from smiling. He’ll roll to face her before pressing a hurried kiss to her lips, as he begins to stand.

“Don’t treat me like the other women,” she says firmly.

“I’m not, I just--”

“Don’t run off just because you are afraid of your feelings.” 

That has him lowering himself back onto the mattress, pulling the sheet around his waist. A sharp look before muttering, “Fine. I’m not running from anything. Just need some--” he’s about to say the word “booze” or “whiskey”, he’s really not particular -- when her mouth is pressing against his this time. And maybe this isn’t so bad, and maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. She’s more than worthy of his time, and she knows he’d much rather prefer to stay.


End file.
